The Hope of an Angel
by DeanLittle
Summary: When Dean Winchester's life starts to fall apart, will Castiel be able to pick up the pieces?
1. Chapter 1

Dean woke to the sound of somebody stumbling into the ratty motel room. Curses were spewed as the person bumped into various items that were scattered across the room. Dean gripped the .45 that was under the pillow, readying himself to fire at the intruder if he needed to. The bedside lamp clicked on, illuminating the sickly green walls and stained bed sheets. He glanced over at the intruder, seeing that it was just his father. He was stumbling around and discarding his clothes. Dean rolled to his side, facing away and pretending to sleep. He could smell the smoke and alcohol that clung to his father's skin and spread around the room like an aura. The bed shifted and he felt his father's arm wrap around his waist.

"Where's Sammy?" Dean thought to himself before remembering that he was at Stanford trying to live a 'normal' life. His father shifted closer, his stubble scratching along Dean's back and neck. He felt his father's lips against his skin. It sickened Dean to even think about what was happening. John's hands moved along Dean's chest, one hand lifting the t-shirt and the other hand pushing past the elastic of Dean's pants and boxers. John's rough, calloused hands caressed Dean's cold, smooth skin.

"Dad! Stop!" Dean cried out as his shirt was being discarded. His struggling proved to be useless against the strength John maintained. It only made the fact that Dean's twenty-two year old body was defenseless against John's forty-two sink deeper into Dean's mind.

John mumbled incoherent words as he flipped Dean to his back. One hand pinned Dean's hands above his head while the other worked on removing the rest of his clothing. Dean could feel John's lips continue to graze over his skin, chills running the length of his spine. He felt his pants and boxers being removed with a swift motion before warmth covered his cock. John's head bobbed up and down along Dean, his tongue flicking over the slit repeatedly. Dean choked back both sobs and moans.

He was then flipped onto his stomach. It happened as quickly as a wendigo moves in the forest. He placed his head on his arms when he felt John line up with his entrance. With no preparation or warning, John thrusted into Dean. He held back a scream, biting into his arm until he tasted the familiar iron.

John's thrusts were fast, deep, and rough. Tears spilled from Dean's eyes as he moved his mouth along his arms to unbitten areas to mark them instead of screaming from the pain he was in. He felt John violate him more with each buck of his hips. His fingernails dug into Dean's back, inching their way down slowly until they reached his hips. When they did, John roughly gripped his hips as the moans and gasps of pleasure filled the room.

A harsh pull on Dean's shoulder made him lift his head and cry out, letting the floodgates open as he sobbed. John's thrusts started to become more erratic, his hands hitting and gripping the flesh on Dean's back. Each of John's moans ripped Dean to the core, the simple fact of knowing that John was enjoying what was happening. Dean knew that the emotional damage was far worse than the physical.

With a few more thrusts, Dean felt John cum inside of him before collapsing to the side. Dean felt used and dirty when he got up a few minutes later to the sound of John's snores. He glanced down at the man who used to be his father, seeing the blood that had run down his legs and spotted in large quantities on the bed. He managed to walk to the bathroom on weak and sore legs, locking the door behind him.

He turned the shower on with nothing but the hot water running. Steam was already starting to fill the room when he carefully stepped in. He wasted no time with scrubbing himself raw with one of the dingy motel washcloths and the cheap soap that came with it. He managed to rub every inch of his already broken body raw. All he was trying to do was wash the memory and the evidence down the drain.

He leaned against the shower wall, letting the now-cold water spray against his sensitive skin. Tears fell down his cheeks as he started sliding down the wall to the fetal position.

"Help me," he softly cried as he started rocking back and forth. "God, don't let him hurt me again." He wasn't sure if God even existed, let alone was listening to him. It seemed that bad things always happened if your last name was Winchester. All he wanted was a normal life where there were no demons; he could have a normal life where he could sleep without rape coming to his mind. With the shower still spraying on his broken body, he fell into a deep sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean woke when he finally felt the coldness hit him. He was shivering violently as he turned off the shower and grabbed a towel, drying off before looking at himself in the mirror. While assessing the damage, he wrapped the towel around his waist. His eyes were rimmed red from crying all night, his arms had dozens of inflamed bite marks, and he could see bruises on his shoulders and hips. He didn't even look at his back before he walked back into the bedroom.

John and all of his stuff were gone. The bloody sheets and blankets were in a pile in the farthest corner of the room. Dean could see his own duffle, clothes, and Impala keys in an orderly pile on the dresser. All the mess was gone, which meant that John was gone. He glanced over at the clock, the red numbers reading 2:30. Since the sun was out, Dean knew it meant 2:30 in the afternoon. He took a look out the window, confirming his suspicion that John was gone by the lack of his truck.

"Fuck!" he yelled out, throwing a near-by bottle across the room and watching it shatter on the wall. All he felt at that moment was anger. He was angry at John for being a sergeant instead of a father, for treating his sons like soldiers, for scaring Sammy off and disowning him for going to college, for taking advantage of his eldest son, for running off the day after taking advantage with no note or explanation. Dean knew his prayer had been answered, but John leaving with no explanation hurt him.

Dean realized that it was finally time to take his life into his own hands. He just wanted to settle down and try to have a good life, maybe even have a family of his own. Those plans were clouded over with the thought of going to see Sammy. As he was getting dressed, he knew that was what he had to do. It was what John had been keeping him from.

Once he was fully dressed and cleaned up, he checked out and started towards Stanford. He knew it was only a six hour drive, but it felt like a lifetime. Led Zeppelin, ZZ Top, AC/DC, and others kept him company while he drove. It kept his mind off the ache in his ass and the pain on his back and arms. He didn't act upon the pain that was screaming "GET OFF ME!" or "EAT YOU IDIOT!" He only focused on the music that filled his car, his home.


	3. Chapter 3

He pulled up to Sammy's apartment around nine that night. From previously checking up on him, Dean knew that Sammy should be home at this time. He at least hoped he was. He parked the car a couple streets down to ensure that Sammy wouldn't see the car and think John was there, proceeding to avoiding him at all costs. The walk wasn't far, but his body continued to scream in protest with each step as if it was a mile. He pushed through the pain like the soldier he was raised to be. It was nothing compared to fighting a werewolf with three cracked ribs and a destroyed knee. He was pulled from the memory when he came to Sammy's door-step.

He took a few deep breaths to steady himself before rasping his knuckles on the door. He wasn't expecting a woman to open the door in nothing but a button down shirt, surely Sammy's, and a pair of short-shorts. He looked her up and down, taking in her obvious post-sex look. Her cheeks were flushed bright red, her blonde hair a complete mess, and she was trying to catch her breath.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked him, breaking the awkward silence.

"Yeah, I'm looking for –." He cut himself off when he saw Sammy walking out of one of the rooms in a pair of sweat-pants.

"Dean?" he asked when he looked over, confusion plastered across his face. His hair had gotten slightly longer since the last time Dean had seen him. He was flushed in the same shade of red, confirming Dean's conclusion of post-sex.

"Sammy," he sighed out, walking towards his baby brother once the mystery woman stepped out of his way. They embraced each other in a hug, Dean's body continuing to protest every action he took.

"What are you doing here, Dean?" he asked, letting Dean go. He looked Dean up and down, running a hand through his own hair.

"I was in the neighborhood. Figured I'd come by and see my baby brother." Sammy let out a choked sigh with a look in his eyes that Dean couldn't quite figure out.

"Where's Dad?" he finally asked. Dean had dreaded the question, not wanting to lie to Sammy, but knowing he couldn't tell him what had really happened. He knew he had to come up with some excuse as to why he was here alone.

"He left at the last stop after we finished the job. He didn't say where he was going." Sammy just nodded at him, but Dean could see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to make connections that weren't there.

"Make yourself at home, Dean," the mystery woman said as she walked over to Sammy, wrapping her arm around his waist and leaning her head on his chest.

"Thank you. I don't think we've met before. I'm Dean Winchester," he said, extending one of his hands. She took her free hand and shook his firmly.

"Jessica, but call me Jess." He nodded and retracted his hand when he saw Sammy's eyes dart to the skin on his arm that showed when his jacked got pushed upward.

"Jess, can Dean and I have a few minutes alone?" Sammy asked. Jess silently nodded and walked out, leaving the brothers alone. Dean sat on the couch and left Sammy standing.

"Dean, why are you really here?" he asked, crossing his arms over his bare chest. Dean could see most of his chest scars, some pink ribbons and others white against his tanning chest.

"I told you, Sammy. I was near-by and Dad ditched me, so I came." Dean leaned back on the couch and propped his feet up on the table.

"What's wrong with your arms?" Sammy asked. Dean took off his jacket and long-sleeved shirt to reveal the bite marks. He looked away before he heard a gasp come from Sammy.

"I hate witches, man. They like to bite." Dean gave a breathy chuckle.

"Dean, you've bitten me enough times during our childhood that I can tell when it's your marks or someone else's. So, why don't you tell me what really happened?" Dean sighed, trying to come up with a new lie.

"I got a pretty nasty cut, so when Dad," God, he hated referring to John as Dad, "was stitching me up, we didn't have anything for me to bite onto, so I bit into my arms to keep from screaming." Sammy didn't seem to buy it. He sat on the table across from Dean, next to his legs.

"Dean, what happened?" Sammy asked quietly and gently.

"I told you, Sammy." The younger boy gave a sigh.

"I'm your brother, Dean. Just tell me what happened. We both know Dad wouldn't leave you injured and you wouldn't come if you were injured to the point of stitches. You get bitchy with stitches." Dean put his feet on the floor and stood up.

"Sorry for intruding. I won't bother you anymore," he said, picking up his shirt and jacked while walking towards the door. Tears stung his eyes, but he knew he had to keep it together until he left.

"Dean, don't go," Sammy said, grabbing Dean by the shoulder. Phantom pain shot through his body and all he could think was _JohnJohnJohn _and _RapeRapeRape_. He was stopped dead in his tracks as tremors shook through his body. One part of his mind knew he was safe, but the other was back in that motel room in Los Angles with John violating every inch of his body. His fight-or-flight instinct kicked in and he rushed out, barely able to realize Sammy was yelling for him to come back.

He didn't realize until it was too late that he was on his knees in the middle of the road with a car coming at him. Sammy's screams were drown out by the sound of feathers brushing against each other, filling his ears, and a blinding white light.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean woke in a bed, covers up to his chest. He opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings. It appeared he was in a normal bedroom, not a hospital room, which made him happier. He could see the sun rising through the open window that was straight across from the bed. He could barely make out what the hushed voices were saying outside the room. It was barely, but not impossible.

"It seems as if he has quite a lot of emotional damage," an unfamiliar voice said.

"How do you know this?" Sammy asked.

"As I have said before, I'm Castiel Angel of the Lord. I am able to assess these things."

"Why are you even here? Aren't there things in Heaven that are more important?" Sammy asked. Dean could tell he was scoffing at Castiel.

"I was assigned to Dean, Sam. It's my job to make sure he's safe. At this moment, he is a potential threat to himself." Dean sat up when Castiel said that, blood rushing to his head and causing vertigo. He shut his eyes trying to fight the nausea and heard the door open.

"Dean," Sammy choked out, on the verge of tears. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Dean questioned. There was a person, who he assumed was Castiel, standing in the corner of the room.

"What Dad did to you!" he practically yelled. "Castiel told me, and with the way you've been acting, I believe him!" Dean hung his head, looking at his hands. "Just tell me it's not true. Tell me Castiel is lying," he said more solemnly.

"Lying is a sin. Also, I am not attempting to deceive you, Sam," Castiel said. Sammy gave Castiel the dagger eyes.

"What did he tell you, Sammy?" Dean asked quietly, shamefully even.

"In his words, 'John Winchester sexually molested your brother last night at a motel in Los Angeles, California, before leaving him alone to fend for himself.'" Sammy sat on the bed at his feet, his eyes burning into Dean. All Dean did was nod to what Sammy had said, and his baby brother let out a sigh before sitting next to Dean.

He felt Sammy's arms wrap around him and he nuzzled into his baby brother's chest as he started to cry. Sammy started to gently rock him back and forth while humming _Open Arms_ by Journey. Dean just let himself go. He knew he was safe with Sammy. He had never let himself be so vulnerable around his brother, but he knew that Sammy understood he was hurting and broken inside long before the events of the prior night. There was no use in hiding it anymore. He continued to sob, tremors shaking through his body. Sammy continued to hum and rock him while nuzzling his own face in the crook of Dean's neck as a comforting gesture.

Dean didn't know how long they had sat like that or if Castiel was still watching them. He had dozed off with Sammy holding him, only waking when he heard Sammy and Jess whispering. He kept his eyes closed, however, to make it easier to eavesdrop on them.

"How is he?" Jess asked. Sammy shifted to reposition so that it was easier to talk without disturbing Dean.

"He cried himself to sleep. I hummed him a song that he said Mom used to hum to him. He kept crying out in his sleep, but I knew not to wake him because of my psychology course. I've never seen him so broken."

"Have you thought of having him talk to a counselor or a trained professional to assess his mental health? Being raped by your own father can definitely cause some psychological trauma," Jess said as she sat on the bed. He could feel the bed shift and Sammy reposition him on his lap.

"No, Dean doesn't like opening up to people. Just to find out what happened was hard enough, and I'm his brother."

"So, what're you going to do then, babe?"

"I'm going to take him to Uncle Bobby's house, then on a hunting trip. He'll enjoy that." There was silence, and Dean heard Jess leave. His head was gently laid against the pillow, and Sammy left.

"Dean?" Castiel asked, the bed shifting again. Dean opened his eyes and really looked at Castiel for the first time. He had piercing sapphire eyes that had an unnatural glow to them, jet black hair, stubble that starched along his jaw, and tanned skin. It was his eyes, however, that caught Dean's attention, the familiarity lingering in his mind.

"Your eyes," he said quietly, trying to figure out why they were so familiar to him. He closed his own eyes, thinking back in his mind before the realization hit him.

"Cas? Cas from the werewolf case in Atlanta?" Castiel's eyes pierced him more, the memory coming back. Cas had helped him and John hunt down a werewolf that was killing a family for revenge. The trench coat and suit looked familiar too, but it was his eyes that brought the memory back. Cas nodded and Dean moved closer to him.

His hands ran over Cas' face, feeling the warmth under his fingers. Cas' breath was on his hands, warm and moist. Even after what had happened with John, he wasn't scared of the deep feelings that were coming to the surface after months of hibernation.

"Why didn't you tell me you were an angel back then?" he asked. Atlanta had been seven months ago. "Why didn't you find me again?"

"John disapproved of our feelings for each other, so I came to the conclusion that it was best that I stay out of sight. I was still there, Dean, but your human senses could not detect me." Dean realized that Cas meant he had been following him for the past seven months.

"Did you see John do what he did? Were you there when it happened?" Cas nodded solemnly and Dean sighed.

"I wish I could have been of assistance, but I had to let it happen. It was an event that was set in stone that will help you on your life journey."

"How does being raped by your own father help on your life path?" he asked harshly.

"Dean, you have to realize that I do not know what your path is, but I do know that this even has already started to make you stronger." Dean nodded and leaned against Cas. He felt his angel's arms wrap around him.

"Cas, are we allowed to be together in the way I want us to be, or is there some rule against it in Heaven?" Cas seemed hesitant to answer his question.

"It is looked down upon in Heaven, but it is not unheard of. Angels and their charges seem to have deep feelings for each other most of the time, but very few to the extent of having relations past that of an angel and a human. It is even rarer for an angel in a male vessel to have feelings for a male charge, but it is still possible. As an answer to your question, I do not think there's a rule against it, but it is looked down upon." Dean was letting what Cas said sink in. It was possible for them to be together. He wasn't worried about how he had thought of having a normal life. He only cared about that moment in that room with Cas, his angel.


End file.
